


And The Arms Of The Ocean Are Carrying Me

by Lapin



Category: Young Justice, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Love, M/M, Post Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have ten minutes.</p><p>They have to make them count, those ten minutes, he thinks. They have to count, because his sheets don't smell like saltwater anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Arms Of The Ocean Are Carrying Me

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I RETURN 
> 
> Of course I still ship them. I just get distracted by other fandoms sometimes. Want to know what I'm up to? Want to submit prompts? (I'm sure that's the more important one) Then follow me on Tumblr at [March Rabbit](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/themarchrabbit) , and message me whatever it is you're wanting. 
> 
> Disclaimer: _Young Justice_ ain't paying my bills. The title is from the song "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + the Machine, off the 2011 album _Ceremonials_

They have ten minutes. That's all Wally can spare them.

“You cut your hair,” Kaldur says, even as he's pulling him in for a kiss, because ten minutes, they have to multi-task. “I like it.” 

And he likes kissing Kaldur, he's missed him so much. None of this is fair, will never be, and he's so pissed off at the world for what it's asking of them. “It was a pain in the ass,” he says, and he presses closer, inhales deep. Kaldur always smells like saltwater, just a little. It's been too long since his sheets smelled like it, smelled like him, and he aches for it, wraps his arms tight around his neck. “Nine minutes.”

“I miss you,” Kaldur breathes against his ear. “I miss waking up beside you, I miss your voice, I miss your words, I miss you, so much,” he kisses that spot right above his collar, the one that makes him shudder. “I miss the way you feel around me, your arms around my neck, I miss the way you say my name, in our bed,”

And fuck, he might cry, “Don't say stuff like that.” He orders, because now he's shaking. “Kaldur, don't. We've got eight minutes, we don't have _time_ ,”

“Do you think about me? When you're alone in bed? Do you remember my hands, my kiss?” Kaldur has always been like this, the kind of guy that can bring him to the edge just by talking, and fuck, does he exploit it. “Do you remember how it feels when I'm inside you, when it's just you and me and us, and you always feel so sweet in my arms, you know. Is that what you think of?” 

“You know I do,” because he does. He thinks of Kaldur's arms and Kaldur's mouth and he think of what it feels like to be with someone you love, not a stranger, not someone you like, but know and _love_ , he thinks about how scared he was of fucking up the first time and he thinks of how desperate they were the last time, how they'd both teared up, because the plan. The plan. It had to be Kaldur. “You know I think of you.” 

There's something pressing into him, another carefully wrapped present, plain white paper and irregularly shaped. Another present from the ocean floor, something no one else can give him. He has three shelves worth of the gifts Kaldur has given him over the years, and sometimes, when he's drunk and alone and angry at all of it, he looks at them and cries and remembers Kaldur loves him more than anything else on the planet. And it's enough. 

Mostly. 

“Please stay alive,” he reminds him. “Don't fucking die, okay? You can't die. You've got to come home.” And when he says that word, he means _me_ , he means _come back to me_. He means a whole lot of things he doesn't have to say, because it's everything they said the last time, it's everything they meant when he pleaded against Kaldur's shoulder, _we could just walk away_.

Kaldur had held him tight after, had shook against him, and he'd been shaking too as they both acknowledged that no, they couldn't. They couldn't let this happen. They didn't know how to be anything but heroes at this point, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all, what the world needed and they had to give. They'd both given it all for the world, for this plan, and fucking hell, the world better be goddamn fucking grateful, better get on their knees and bow down, because it _hurts_. It hurts so bad to wake up every day and know he's alone, know Kaldur might already be dead and he might not find out for weeks, know Kaldur might be found out and tortured, and he won't know until he sees the marks, knows Kaldur might get killed by someone not in on the plan, might die. Might die and never be in their bed again, never hold him again, never love him again, never smile and ask for five more minutes. His sheets might never smell like saltwater again. And he won't even be able to say a word. The plan.

The plan.

“Six minutes.” He says, and he kisses him as hard as he can, tries to remind him that hey, I'm here and I love you and come home. “Fuck,” he swears just to swear, and Kaldur holds him tight. 

“I love you,” Kaldur says, because he's never been shy with those words. “I love you so much. I will come back to you, I swear. I will come back.” 

“That house in Norway is looking damn good right now, isn't it?” He teases, even though he wants to cry. That had been the plan, a long time ago. The house in peaceful Norway, by the cold sea, that had been the plan, damn it. That had been the plan. Only then there was a new plan, this plan, and the house in Norway had been bought by someone else. 

Kaldur sighs, holds him so tight. “I think about it. When I lie down to sleep. I think about the house, and you, I think of you, my bird, I think of our life. It won't be much longer. We'll be in a house, we'll make it a home, we will, and I will sleep beside you every night, I will be with you, I will love you every day, I swear it,” 

“Five minutes,” and he might cry. 

Kaldur kisses him again, kisses him until he has no air, no words, kisses him until he can't think at all of anything but them and the plan, their plan. Of a house. Of quiet. Of retirement. Of love. 

“Three minutes,” his shoulders shake, his throat tightens. 

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and “I love you so much,”

“Two minutes,” and his stomach hurts, it all hurts so bad. 

Kaldur exhales, “I will give you everything you ever wanted, I will give you the world, I love you,”

One minute.

They kiss. 

They kiss.

They kiss.

Their time is up, and he can't let go, and neither can Kaldur. 

“You have to go,” he tells him, and his face is hot, and he's crying. “No more time, you have to go.” And he hates the words, hates them so much, but they're what makes Kaldur release him and nod, agree, and just like that, he's gone.

The present is in his hand.

Wally comes back, looks sad. “You okay?” And it's not a stupid question, it's Wally being a good friend and asking if he needs another minute. 

“Yeah.” He doesn't. 

He wipes his eyes.

“I'm good.”

It's an intact bottle, blue, small. The water has worn it soft and textured. 

He puts it on the shelf.

The plan, he reminds himself.

His sheets don't smell like saltwater, and he cries.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism, or hell, just criticism, is always appreciated.


End file.
